Adorable Psycho's Paintball Adventure
by Wepdiggy
Summary: Chuck suggests Sarah find a new outlet for her anger. Maybe he should have suggested knitting? Written for Frea Day!


_Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, and this idea wasn't even mine. It was Frea's._

_A/N: OK, so today, I celebrate Frea Day. What is Frea day, you ask? Well, this is my celebration of __**Frea O'Scanlin'**__s birthday. Now, to be clear, today is NOT her birthday. That's not for months. But we made a pact, awhile back, that on this day, the day almost exactly the mid-point between my birthday and hers, that we would exchange fics, and I always come through. Yeah, I hear you College Years fans, I know that's not true at all, haha. But I do try. So, yeah, this is for you, Frea. I'm not sure it turned out as well as I'd hoped, as I haven't written this character in a LONG time, but I gave it my best effort, I promise. Anyway, Happy Frea Day, and I hope everyone enjoys this as much as possible._

_A/N2, Edit: So, it's come to my attention, after publishing, that I misspoke. It wasn't Frea that originally came up with the paintball concept. It was **Graceless O'Scanlin**, who is fantastic in her own right, and digs the AP series. So this is actually for BOTH the O'Scanlin girls. For Frea's birthday, and for Graceless in general. _

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"This is stupid," Sarah whined, fidgeting with her protective vest.

"You agreed to it," Casey answered.

"I only agreed to it because Chuck promised me sex, and while it was totally worth it at the time—so, so worth it—I'm now starting to question my judgment."

"That would be a first," Casey said with a smirk.

"Are you saying I have poor judgment, Casey?" Sarah asked threateningly.

"Well, let's do a quick history lesson on your judgment, shall we."

"I'd rather not," Sarah said, annoyed.

"Miller, Larkin, Shaw—"

"I really don't want to do this right now, Casey."

"And that doesn't even begin to touch on your batshit insane nature since you started boinking the Intersect."

"I'm protective," Sarah said defensively.

"You killed a woman last week for _saying_ the name Chuck," Casey pointed out.

"She was an attractive brunette. You can see how I may have misconstrued the evidence I had at the time."

"She was a war widow, she was in a church, and she was talking about her dead husband, Charles Gee."

"Well, now she can see her husband in the after-life. You know if she believed in that sort of thing, which I don't, because it's completely irrational. But seeing as she was praying at the time, I'm thinking she did, so I did her a favor," Sarah said.

"Did Bartowski buy that line of reasoning?" Casey asked.

"No," Sarah huffed. "He got all pissy that I killed someone in a church. I almost didn't get any sex that night, but I wasn't over my limit, and I surprised him in the shower and did this little move where I—"

"I beg you to stop right there," Casey groaned.

"Fine," Sarah said, upset that she hadn't been able to tell her story. "But if you change your mind, I have it all on video."

"I could've lived my whole life without knowing that," Casey said.

"I'm sure you could've, but now, your life has been more enriched by the visual image of Chuck and me writhing around in the shower, completely naked—"

"Back to the matter at hand!" Casey growled.

"Ugh," Sarah groaned. "Paintball is stupid!"

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_Wepdiggy presents:_

**Adorable Psycho's Paintball Adventure**

_Written for Frea O'Scanlin_

* * *

Sarah climbed out of the Crown Vic, and started stretching her limbs. She wasn't sure _why_ Casey made her sit in the back seat. Okay, once she grabbed the wheel from him and forced him to run over a jaywalker, but that was just upholding the law. It just so happened that said pedestrian had been seen making eyes at Chuck the day before. That should hardly be reason to make a lady, his partner no less, sit in the back.

But that was an argument Sarah had decided she couldn't win. Or at least, she couldn't win it that day. After all, if she behaved herself, Casey may let her skip out of stupid paintball early.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Sarah moaned.

"Then don't do it, Walker. I'm sick of hearing you whine about it," Casey growled. "Bartowski seems to think this will help you relieve some stress without having to inflict damage to the public at large, but if you don't want to be here, then you're an adult."

"If Chuck _really_ wanted to help me relieve some stress—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Casey said.

"Fine," Sarah huffed. "But I mean, what's the point of shooting something if it doesn't die? It's just a really _gay_ concept. It's like a delicious Cadbury Egg without its creamy center. It's like an iPod without ear-buds. It's like plowing with no multiple orgasms."

Casey buried his face in his hands and began to massage his temples. "You had to go there, didn't you?"

"Just calling it like I see it, Colonel," Sarah said with a smirk.

"And I'm sure you did something like this in training. It's not like this should be new hat for you."

"We did," Sarah admitted. "And it sucked then, and it sucks now. Paintball is boring, and I hate it. I mean, I'm a knife girl, you know this. If I'm going to shoot something, I want it to bleed, and eventually die. Otherwise, I'll just throw a knife at it. Of course, ideally the target would _still_ die, but you get my point."

Realization seemed to dawn on Casey. "You're not carrying any knives, are you?"

"No," Sarah said, disappointed. "Chuck frisked me before I left the apartment. Of course, I encouraged this action. In fact, I insisted that he give me a more thorough exam, but he seemed to be satisfied with his findings. I, on the other hand, was nowhere close to satisfied, so the quicker we can get out of here—"

"Yeah, I gotcha," Casey said. "No further explanation is needed."

"But you don't want to hear about all the places Chuck touched me? All the places I _wanted_ him to touch me?" Sarah asked playfully.

"I really, really don't," Casey said. "By the way, what's with the shirt?"

Sarah looked down at her apparel. "Oh, you like it? Chuck bought it for me."

"Yeah, it's swell. It's just, this is _paintball_."

"And? I'm Sarah Walker, Casey. It's not like anyone is going to get the drop on me."

And largely, Sarah was right. When they hit the range, designed like a MOUT training facility, she was like a killing machine, only, without the killing part. Which sucked.

But still, she managed to clear out over half of the other team in under an hour, single-handedly. Many a pissed off, disappointed adolescent boy left the field that day, the victim of Sarah Walker justice.

In fact, after the first hour, Sarah got bored with only taking out her opponents, and decided to turn rogue, and began taking out her own team. In her mind, there could be only one winner, and it was going to be her.

Forty-five minutes later, Sarah's paint-filled rampage was almost done. There were only three bodies left on the field: her, Casey, and some douche bag kid from the other team. Sarah didn't bother to learn his name. Names didn't matter in combat. Only body counts.

Sarah had a trap fully formed for Casey, and to her delight, he was walking right into it. In a way, she felt bad that she was taking on her teammate before she finished off the competition, but not _that_ bad. After all, if she allowed Casey to "live", then she'd have to share the glory of her victory with him. Sarah didn't like sharing glory. Except with Chuck, and that was a completely different kind of glory.

Casey walked in the door to the faux Mosque. He was following protocol, and swept the room starting with the far cover, just as Sarah knew he would. She also knew that he'd hesitate when he saw her in the rafters. He did, and Sarah took advantage, firing off three quick rounds, tightly clustered, center mass.

"Ha, gotcha, bitch!" Sarah exclaimed, jumping down from the rafters.

What Sarah hadn't counted on was the little shit from the other team trailing Casey. She would've been impressed by the kid's stealth skill, had he not fired upon her immediately upon entering the room. More over, she would've been impressed, except that the splatter from the paint got on her blouse. A blouse Chuck gave her.

The Little Shit (forever how Sarah would remember him) barely had time to celebrate his victory. Barely had time to remove his mask, before a small throwing knife was embedded in this forehead. That squishy sound a blade made when entering brain matter was one of Sarah's favorite sounds in the world. Next to sex noises with Chuck, of course.

"I thought you said Chuck checked you!" Casey said, shocked by the turn of events.

"And I also said he didn't check me well enough," Sarah pointed out. "Plus that little shit ruined my new blouse. I'm sure Chuck will understand."

"You think?"

"No," Sarah admitted. "He won't. But I'm still under my limit for the week, so I can make him forget all about it. After all, you _know_ how killing makes me horny."

"I hate my life," Casey admitted.

"So are we doing this again next week?" Sarah asked. Her mood had noticeably brightened. You know, once she was actually able to kill someone.

"No."

* * *

_A/N: Um, I got nothing. You guys are awesome. Peace._


End file.
